Three

3

Six Months Later….

The whiskey wasn’t doing him any favors. No not one at all. Six months after he had made the best discovery in biochemical weapons Randolph Anderson sat alone in his private lab enjoying a few last minutes with himself and his old friend Jack Daniels. One hand held the bottle and another held a .32 caliber magnum revolver that he had luckily recovered in the chaos that had ensued merely hours ago. How did one of the worlds smartest men in a short six months time go from celebrating with the best Napa Valley wine to a bottle of the lowly Nascar fan version of Champagne? He took another swig of the bottle coughing as the strong liquid went down his throat and started thinking about where he had messed up.

The so called “virus” that Randolph had created was one of the most perfect specimens that had ever been created in a lab. Jimmy was just the first of several lab animals that had suffered the effects of Agent 666 as Randolph liked to call it. It was quick, deadly and dirty just like the devil. The chemical had ended up not being airborne as Randolph had hoped for, he had put many animals with the corpses of the tested subjects and the chemical had not passed from one subject to another until there was a transfer of fluids, such as blood. A minor setback. It was still a weapon and a good one at that, and there was no cure.

Randolph had worked for months on a counter measure to the chemicals effects to no avail. The only cure was to burn the bodies of the contaminated before their blood could be transferred to another host. He had yet to try it out on a human host, fate decided that for me, Randolph thought to himself. He felt the cold steel of the gun in his hands as a tear ran down his cheek and the thoughts of the evening played back through his head.

The chemical had been set to be delivered to California by train that very evening. It was required that deadly toxins or anything that could wipe out human life as we know it, was transported by train, it was apparently the safest way. Yeah right, he thought. He had told the morons who were loading the canisters to triple check everything to make sure everything was secure. They assured him that everything was secure and ready to go. Ten minutes out the first canister had come loose. And more are probably falling out all the way to California, Randolph thought.

Randolph had been finishing up some stuff out in the train yard area of the complex he worked at when he spotted the first of them out of the corner of his eye. A man in his mid thirties was staggering up the tracks with another fellow right behind him. Randolph could sense something was wrong from the moment he spotted him. One of the company’s many security guards noticed as well.

“Hey!” he yelled “this is private property you can’t be in here.”

No response the two men proceeded to walk towards the complex. The security guard drew his weapon and continued to yell warnings the other security guards about five in all drew their guns as well. They didn’t slow, continuing towards the guards, arms outstretched. From behind them a third person emerged, a woman, a little faster paced then the other two. Randolph then saw what he needed to see, panic and fear hit him instantly. All three people had blood coming from eyes, ears and mouth. No, he thought to himself, they should be dead then! Right then the voices returned to taunt him. All they did was laugh.

“SHOOT THEM NOW!” Randolph screamed. The guards looked at him confused, they thought these were normal people who yet made any threats, but by the time the first man reached for the security guard and began biting and tearing at his jugular it was too late. The guard was screaming as the creature tore his throat out blood flying into the air. The guards opened fire emptying clips into their bodies to no end. Two, then three more of these creatures appeared from the tracks, one of the guards shots hit one of them in the head and they dropped not getting back up.

Another guard fell as the woman took a bite out his arm, and then the unthinkable happened. Randolph watched as the security guard that moments ago had gotten his throat ripped out stand up and takes a chunk out of one of his buddies. What the hell? He was so lost in the moment he didn’t notice one of them coming at him from his left until it was almost on him. He fell to the ground, crawling away, seeing something on the ground. A gun, he reached for it flipped around on his back, aimed and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the creatures head exploding out the back knocking the so called zombie to the ground red chunks decorating the concrete.

“Screw this.” Randolph said as he stood up and ran for the building. A zombie lunged at him; he ducked under its reaching arms opening the door to the complex not worrying about closing it, running for his lab. And now here he was sitting at the desk where he had doomed humanity. He knew there was nothing to do. There was no cure. He had no idea why this was happening. Not one single animal that he had tested the agent on had come back after they were dead. They only thing he could think of was that the agent worked different in a human body, possibly attacking all the organs and vitals like it should but instead of staying waiting to be transferred it must attach itself to something in the human body and jumpstart it back to life. And all the nutrients that it needs to survive lives in the human body, Randolph thought, hence also the hunger for flesh. Feeding on other humans in sense keeps the chemical active and at the same time passes it over to another human host. A zombie. He took another swig of the Jack Daniels as he felt the weight of the magnum in his hand.

You killed them Randy, the voices taunted, you killed them all.

Randolph began to sob uncontrollably throwing the empty whiskey bottle against the door to his lab, and screaming at the top of his lungs to whatever unseen god would listen. No peace came over him only guilt and shame. He could hear them outside, their moans and pounds at his door barely audible through the thick steel. They would never get in, and he would be in here forever.

You don’t deserve to live.

“Shut up, this is all your fault!” He screamed at the voices.

You cannot blame us for this, you let us in and now you have to live or die with the consequences. They all laughed. Do you really think these things effects us? We are Legion, we are many and we have no cares for the affairs of men which will soon be over. Our creation will sweep over this so-called Promised Land and then the time that was promised shall be ours. All we have to do is tie up loose ends.

A sudden wave of guilt came over him as he looked at the gun in his hand.

“Please God,” he sobbed. The voices cut him off.

Ha you think he is listening? You belong to us, you let us come in, and now we own you.

A searing pain filled Randolph’s head. Pounding into his brain, it felt like one thousand knifes were cutting his nerves. He was powerless, completely powerless. He brought the magnum up to his temple and thought about growing up, his mother, father, and Lacey. Tears continued to pour out from his eyes as countless memories of what could have been flashed before his eyes. If only he had not let them in. “I’m sorry,” Randolph said as he pulled back the hammer, and then pulled the trigger.

**************

“Damn that infernal woman!” Bobby Williams pounded the steering wheel of his old beat up Chevy truck as he drove down the dirt driveway of Darlene Edison’s house. An open Bud light can was between his legs and as he continued to swear and beat his truck beyond what is was already he wished he had a gun in his truck. He had warned what would happen if he found out she had been cheating on him and what happens? He walks into her house with some roses and chocolates and she is in bed with another man. Just not any man either, the freaking sewer guy, Pinky Smith. Fine, Bobby thought to himself as he got to the main road and headed towards town, if she wants to be with someone who cleans crap for a living that’s fine by me. He took a swig of his beer as he crossed the tracks and was thinking more and more of his AR-15 that he had locked in the cabinet at home when something caught his eye on the side of the road.

“What the…..” He pulled the truck over to side of the road finished off the rest of his beer and got out of the truck. It wasn’t outside of the normal to find things on the side of the road this close to the tracks. Trains ran through her non-stop and on more than one occasion Bobby had found some unsecured cargo (or treasure as he liked to call it) on the side of the road. One time he had found a whole case of Jack Daniels in the bushes ten feet from the tracks, he and all his Nascar buddies had two weeks of good times with that little discovery. Bobby wondered what amazing thing he would find this time.

He walked a little ways back from where he parked and tried to spot what he saw. He looked around the bushes and trees for several minutes before he found what he was looking for. He walked up to it with not a worry in the world. He took his little mini flashlight out of his pocket and shined the light on his treasure. It was a silver canister, circular in shape about one foot long and about half a foot in diameter. It kind of looked like a small torpedo like he had seen in those navy movies his dad liked to watch when he was a kid.

Bobby bent down to pick it up and just as he was about to touch it, he hesitated. He had no idea what was inside it. For all he knew this thing could have fallen off a secret military transport and could be some sort of experimental kool aid or something. Then it could be worth a lot of money, a mysterious thought in his head spoke aloud, maybe there is a reward. Bobby didn’t know if it was him thinking or if someone else was talking. He could use the money, he had a lot of debt and he had spent a boat load of money on that stupid tramp. He placed his hand on the canister. It reacted to his touch immediately, began to make a hissing sound.

A green vapor began to appear from the cylinder. Bobby began to panic, the vapor seemed to be alive as it wrapped around his legs, crawling up his body and up to his face. Bobby began to cough as the vapor filled his lungs; he turned and ran to the truck. A sharp pain in his gut brought him to his knees, coughing profusely he began to vomit he could feel something coming out of his ears, nose and eyes. He wiped his hand across his nose and brought it up to his eyes. Covered with blood, Bobby thought, I’m dying. As he lay on the road he could feel the vapor eating his insides, killing him. In less than two minutes, Bobby Williams no longer had to worry about that cheating tramp Darlene Edison, or the debt he had acquired over the years, he lay in the middle of the street on the edge of a small northwestern town dead. His internal organs now useless, all bodily functions halted, his body now belonged to Agent 666.

The molecules worked fast, moving through his nervous system and blood stream at an alarming rate. Finally, they found their way to the cortex of his brain and issued a small charge. Bobby’s body began to convulse, as the chemical began to take control of it and made it stand up. His body struggled at first but eventually it began walking slowly towards the lights of the small town a mile up the road. It was only thinking about one thing as it started its short walk. It was hungry.